Masoud

I am thirty two years old, born in Afghanistan. When the Taliban came into my country, they attacked my village. My father was a police officer. They beat him mercilessly until we were forced to leave our home. We, first, fled to Pakistan for six years, but the Pakistani government forced us to return to Afghanistan and assured us that the Taliban was no longer a threat. When we got back I began to study Engineering Electronics and language courses. I worked for the Afghani government as an electrician with four or five employees under me. However, I did not enjoy the job so I went to work for the American government as a translator and transporting goods. The Taliban found out I was working for the Americans and went to my home looking for me, but my father protected me and called to warn me not to come home, but to go to my uncle’s house instead. My uncle begged all of his friends for money to help send me to Europe. I, soon, received thirteen thousand dollars and left. I travelled to Iran, Turkey, Greece, Italy, France, and then finally landed in Belgium. 

After a year and a half in Belgium, I was declined by the government, but rather than being deported, I went to live on the streets for the next four years. I stayed in churches, with friends, but mostly, I lived on park benches. There were too many times that I thought I would die because I had no food, or I had no warmth. Then, the Belgian police found me and deported me back to Afghanistan. When I arrived back in my country, my father told me that the Taliban was still in our village and that it was not safe for me to return home. My father reached back out to his friends and asked for more money to send me back to Europe. I received eight thousand dollars this time. With this money, I went through Iran, Turkey, Greece, Bulgaria, Austria, Germany, and then made it to France. Due to being fingerprinted and processed in Belgium, France said they could not accept me, so they were going to send me back to Belgium, who would only end up sending me home again. After a year and a half of living on the streets of Porte de LaChapelle, the police came and rounded up all the refugees and brought us into a camp. I am happy to be here, to have food and shelter, but I cannot go back to Afghanistan. I know they will send me back again, I just do not know what to do from here.